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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/26374840">Memories Sifting Through</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/Abigailduis/pseuds/Abigailduis'>Abigailduis</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Sherlock (TV)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Getting Together, Grief/Mourning, M/M, Minor Character Death</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>In-Progress</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-10-08</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-10-08</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-06 07:48:34</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Teen And Up Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>897</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/26374840</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/Abigailduis/pseuds/Abigailduis</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Sherlock's mom has just died.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Sherlock Holmes/John Watson</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>11</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>Memories Sifting Through</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>He wishes they would all leave. He can't deal with their prying, sympathetic eyes right now. He wishes one of those sink holes would pop up right under his feet and swallow him up. </p><p>And he has so much to do.</p><p>Inside his mother's reading room, the door is closed and he can tend to things by himself.</p><p>The box is nearly full now. His mother's things that he will be taking with him. He'll need to get another.</p><p>Remember to ask John.</p><p>Looking around the circle of pictures and little drawings she made and that he made for her, little things he found outside. Acorns even, when he was a tiny child. She saved them all it seems. His hear wells up so high it feels fit to burst. A hitched high sob comes out. He's cried more times than he can count.</p><p>When he gets himself under control he realizes how exhausted he is. Overtaxed in a way that come with pain and sadness. There's so much more --</p><p>He hears the front door being opened and people's voices. Raised voices. Sherlock twitches his nose in confusion. He leaves the room and walks over to where the commotion is. </p><p>He hears her before he sees her. </p><p>"Ah, Sherly. There you are sweet little brother. Going through dear mummy's things, are we?" Her sing-song voice drives nails into his head. Eurus is standing on the threshold, dressed in casual clothes but the shackles on her wrists and the two institute men are immediately behind her. </p><p>Sherlock bounds over to her, screaming. "They let you out!"</p><p>"Funeral. Grieving daughter. Good behavior for a few months." She says with a smirk as he gets up to the crowd around the door. </p><p>In that instant, Sherlock knows what he must do. He can't let her inside. Before she gets into everyone's head.</p><p>He slips right past Lestrade who makes a move to stop him, leaps past Mrs. Hudson, maneuvers past Mycroft. </p><p>He'll tackle her, or push her outside, or, or- he doesn't know yet. He just knows he can't let her inside. <em>Not inside his mother's house.</em></p><p>But before he can make it any further though John catches him around by the waist, grabs one of his arms and pins it down to his side. </p><p>"John! Let me go!" What comes out of his mouth sounds humiliatingly close to a shriek but he can't think about that. </p><p>Infuriatingly, even with her handlers on either side of her, there Eurus stands, free as a bird, before him; and still wearing that smug look on her face. Sherlock uses his free arm to punch and claw at John's arm, struggling and squirming with all his strength. In vain as it turns out. There might as well be an iron band locked around his middle. For a split second his brain relays the breadth and hardness of the chest he's held close to, and it's momentarily distracting. John's strength is no secret, lest of all to Sherlock, but for his best friend to employ it now, at this time, Sherlock is more more than a little hurt. </p><p>John practically carries Sherlock backwards, and while he might be overpowered, he still has his clever tongue, and that has always been his greatest weapon. </p><p>"Why even bother with the pretense, Eurus? Mom always hated you, you know that. We all know that." He spits out, venom dripping from his words.</p><p>Eurus's smile falls instantly. Taking its place is a look that could positively kill. It's Sherlock's turn to grin triumphantly. </p><p>On either side of his sister, the handlers must have felt the slight change in her mood and each pull taut the shackles at her wrists. </p><p>John's firm hold remains, and he takes Sherlock all the way to his old bedroom. When John closes the door so it's just he and Sherlock in there alone, Sherlock finds it a surprisingly welcome sanctuary. </p><p>John's face is creased but not with anger. His low voice is full of sympathy when he sets Sherlock on the bed, looks into his eyes and says. "I'm sorry, Sherlock. I'm so sorry. She should have never been allowed out. At the very least they should have warned the family."</p><p>Tears prick anew at the corners of Sherlock's still wet eyes. "Who says they didn't." He says, trying to keep the bitterness out of his voice. "Dad probably allowed it."</p><p>John grits his teeth. "Well, if he did. I doubt he knew what it would do to you."</p><p>Sherlock turns his head. His dad probably didn't even know what was going on. He's half senile.</p><p>"Doesn't matter." He shrugs, ignoring his breaking heart. "Mum is dead after all, and so really there's nothing she can do to her now." </p><p>"She's hurting you. That's all that matters." John's hand comes to rest on Sherlock's where it involuntarily clutching at the sheets.</p><p>"Thank you, John." His voice sounds terribly small and John's cologne is terribly intoxicating and he suddenly wants nothing more than to bury his head in John's chest and cry for an eternity. </p><p>What he does instead is remain silent and motionless for several minutes as he tries to pack up all his emotions. Eventually he rises slowly and put on a fake smile.</p><p>"Well, let's go check on her. I'm sure she's already talked Mrs. Hudson into knitting her a scarf." </p>
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